


Far from Home

by the_workshop



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:19:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26593561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_workshop/pseuds/the_workshop
Summary: As the war deepens, the Empire turns to worlds beyond the Outer Rim to obtain materiel to sustain its ships. A young pilot from a different culture is contracted to work for an Imperial governor and thanks to a poorly-planned and executed extraction mission, finds her plans forever changed.
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

"Are you nervous, _Anah_ ?" _Apah_ walks beside her laying his flesh-and-bone hand on her shoulder. "It's fine if you are."

"I've had good training officers, _Apah_ , and good marks. I should not be nervous." But she was, and annoyed with herself about it. She was not going into her _ashmin_ with her own people, but with those of her father. Inner system folk, some even from the Core. "I have _Siju_ , and will do well."

"I know Governor Yalis. We worked together in the Republic Survey and Expansion Corps. I've spoken to him about you." 

They cross to the governor's complex in the light of a distant double star, the air cool and humid, the three moons a necklace around the suns. She nods. "I am sure that I will learn much."

Her father's voice warms. "You will. Your mother and I are very proud." A squeeze of her shoulder.

That straightens her spine. _Amah_ and _Apah_ are proud of her. "I will not disappoint you."

Even as crecheling, she wanted to play captain. As a trainee, her training officers tested and routed her into learning the systems of a ship, from the san units to life support to mess supply. She learned navigation, piloting skills, and all the procedures of shipboard life that came with being Amirahni. Even now she studied tactics and strategy as if she would become _vaylan_ next week instead of a small-craft pilot. Her second-eldest sister has newly established her own mining platform, taken a mate, and along with third-eldest sister and her mate had entreated her to join them. 

_Apah_ had another option. His friend was having trouble filling many positions as young men left for the inner systems, and who better to fill them than impeccably trained Amirahni girls? For the past ten years, many sisters opted to fill open positions among the Dwellers for their _ashdin_ . Traffic control, piloting, construction, cargomasters, data mining, ore refining - there was a wealth of opportunity when ships could not divide fast enough for all the daughters from full-to-bursting creches and training pods. The additional benefit was that after completing _ashdin_ , there was a positive wealth of potential mates to beget daughters with - something that she is on the whole ambivalent about. There's no pressure, but there are expectations. 

The governmental hub of Garond-Elba is in a renovated area, the buildings flowing and graceful, taking advantage of the fresh sea breezes and without the bustle of the commercial core around the spaceport facilities. The governor's complex is aesthetically pleasing with many people bustling about importantly. Father's friend waits for them in the lobby, walking them in past six white-armored troopers, with two black-armored troopers heeling him. 

"Aldin, it is good to see you." The man with silver hair and a silver moustache greets them in Jondori, gripping Father's arm and clapping him on the shoulder. "And this must be your daughter? Good afternoon, young lady - how are you called?"

" _Vayshin_ ," She bows, "I am called by Siju Aldinschild."

She feels the name settle into her bones. Siju Aldinschild. It was a relief that he had not asked her birth-name - something reserved for immediate family or intimates. However, giving one's birth-name to an Outsider was considered an indication that one was taking a mate. Something her elder sisters muttered about in dire tones and referencing lack of manners.

"Do not worry, young Pilot Siju. The people stationed here have learned their manners." He takes her proffered credentials with a smile. "Albeit to a number of slapped faces." 

_Apah's_ smile shows a feral pride. "Our lasses know their stuff."

The office is impressive - with high ceilings and a view from the mountains to the sea. Mer Eddeso sits on a pale-blue watered continental shelf and backs into small mountains dotted with hot springs and geysers. The white heartstone of the wall paneling alone would buy ten Deepstriker-class ships. The armored men wait outside and _Apah_ is waved to a seat, but Siju remains standing as one should in the company of one's superiors.

"I admit, Aldin, I had expected someone older with such credentials - at least of cadet age." _Vayshin_ Yalis pours two cups of something smoky and tannic, handing one to _Apah_. "I hardly expected a girl of thirteen to have her own vessel."

"We start training them young, Milo. We have to. It's not a safe and cozy place out here or on the arms. Furthermore, she bought that ship with her own crew-shares and stake money." _Apah's_ smile is tight. "She needs a buff on tactics and strategy, but she knows her ship, the local systems, and nav cold."

"So I see. We'll convert her credentials and have her take the system exams. The standard Imperial ones would require sending her to one of the academies." Sipping his cup, the _vayshin_ examined her qualifications. "The systems here are pacified, were no fans of the Separatists, and seem content to stay far from Coruscant's notice."

_Apah_ said nothing. He had been injured, cashiered, and left in the Outer Rim as the in-worlders called it. He was injured in service, saved with prosthetics, and refused a return to his rightful rank under the Republic. It was good fortune that _Amah_ \- then a young _kayadin_ with her own Far-Runner class - had found him in good order and taken him as her Second and mate. 

"Young Siju will be my personal pilot, taking me to the client systems as needed. Standard contractor rates, of course, and not in the chain of command. Her contracting authority is the system governor."

"Acceptable. However, she is the captain of the ship - even if it is small. I don't think you know how seriously the Amiranhi take their passengers' safety." 

The _vayshin_ blinks and looks at her. Siju nods. "The safety of my passengers is paramount. As long as they stand on my deck, they are my responsibility." _Amah_ warned her that the men of the inner worlds often did not take women seriously. The _vayshin's_ smile told her this was true. 

"I have my contract ready to sign, _Vayshin_. May I read the one that you offer?"

"I'd forgotten how serious even your very young ones are, Aldin. Of course, young Siju. Please be seated." He hands over a datapad with the document on screen. "I think you will find everything in order."

The room is quiet as she reads. The contract is bog-standard, but _Amah_ and _Hyn-Amah_ made sure that her training included contract laws. _Vayshin_ Yalis is honest, with everything spelled out. However, he seems to know little of Amirahni ships.

"Your contract says that you reserve the right to carry your own cargos and passengers if such is not constrained by the needs of the primary contractor."

"Yes, _Vayshin_. My ship has a total of 1,114 meters of pressurized space available. 214 meters for ship's systems, drive, weapons, and engineering, 100 meters for the bridge, 550 meters for passengers, cargo and cargo handling, 250 meters for crew area."

"I was given to understand that this was about the size of a shuttle, not a freighter. No further objections to what you do on your own time and credit so long as you're not breaking any laws. "

"Our vessels are larger - longer jumps." Two singularity engines - one a class one, the other a class three. Two power cores for weaponry, tactical, ship's systems, and insystem drive. "Siju can make jumps as long as a month."

"Our travels are unlikely to be as arduous as that. Next issue - there are no more Jedi. You don't have to worry about them coming aboard. Order 66 has eliminated them."

"You can eliminate mynocks, too, _Vayshin_ , then the cells split and there they are."

"It's hypothetical, but I suppose that if a Jedi comes aboard your vessel you have the right to deal with him. However, as a sector governor, when I am aboard the vessel there's extraterritoriality to consider. If the hypothetical Jedi is aboard at the same time I am, then I am bound to arrest him and bring him to Imperial Justice. Agreed?"

"Agreed if the Jedi poses no threat to my vessel or passengers."

The contracts are read, signed, and sealed. It is done and now she is on her _ashmin_. No turning back. The galaxy wobbles on its axis and the next breath had to get past an unexpected lump in her throat. 

Three months later, Siju wondered why she'd been so worried. Her life here is much the same as it was on her natal ship. Instead of the dorms, she has her own room of a generous four-by-four meters. Instead of training officers that she'd known from the creche, she has training officers of Governor Yalis' selection. She is learning Inner Basic - or rather to speak it more competently than she does now. For all the men who boarded Amirahni ships, Inner Basic is ignored in Free Space where Inners are largely absent.

Her days start with lessons from her training officers - men so starched that Siju thinks that they must be stored away in racks at the end of classes. Her days end with more lessons sent to her studyware from her natal ship via commpoint. If one class of credentials is good, then two are better. Travel days are spent on short jumps that are typically less than nine hours - though many of the Inners complain about the duration. The stars are farther apart here, and the hyperspace lanes are not as well-defined. 

In her own time, Siju learns that swimming, waterball, and water-bathing are an excellent use of hours. Likewise, she learns not to use her room's small cooking unit for anything other than reheating premade meals lest the fire suppressant systems deploy. She socializes with the many Ahmirahni living here, and is accepted into their circles as one of the youngest sisters. The governor and his staff are polite, the armored men treat her as largely invisible unless they directly interact, and she's making solid pay. The other Inners, however, are strange. Some seem to regard her as cognitively impaired, or as a lesser being, while others call her a 'retirement plan' - seeming to think that at some point she might choose them as a mate.

Well. 

Ick. 

No.

For the most part, Siju ignores the Inners aside from Governor Yalis. Her contract is with him as the local civilian authority - not them or their 'Galactic Empire' - which is actually much less than the span and depth of the galaxy. One of the older sisters said that for men it always looks bigger from where they're standing. Siju blinked at the laughter and pinned that as something she'd understand in the undefined time when she reaches the 'older' that seems in no hurry to arrive.

"Young Siju." The governor's secretary on duty pages on her private comm. "How soon can you be ready to fly?"

"I am ready now, the ship ten minutes after I get there." This is not on the schedule and the secretary sounds pressed and, moreover, it's late evening. "I'm leaving now."

"Don't. The governor wants you to go with two of his troopers and a man in a white officer's tunic. Wait for them in the lobby of your residence block." 

"Understood." Something even further out of the usual. Siju grabs her go-bag from under her bed, her shipsuit, jacket, and boots from the wardrobe. "Flight plan?"

"You will be given the plan when the ship is prepared to leave." The secretary continues, "Do you have a blaster?"

Siju is pulling up the zip of the shipsuit and stomping into her boots. "I do." Among other things.

"Arm yourself, wait for your escort. You'll be contacted when you signal the ship's ready to go."

"Acknowledged." She webs the jacket to her go-bag as she discomms, then takes out her blaster and belts it on. After a moment of reflection, she removes a small but heavy roll of items from her desk drawer, shoves it in the go-bag and reseals it. The door slides shut behind her as she leaves.

~

"That's the pilot?" Padis Lethon can see the waiting figure in the lobby of the Amirahni girls' residence and would like to protest. "I was expecting someone older. As in not twelve."

The death trooper glances at him and away, the blank helmet giving him no clues, but he can hear the eye-roll. "That's the pilot. Take it or leave it."

A girl still slightly child-shaped with a soft child's face, light-color eyes, black curly hair in a raked-back tail, and a mildly melanistic skin tone. Said child wears a shipsuit and cap that vaguely echoes an Imperial uniform, only in a light blue a few saturation points short of pastel. His world would call it sky blue. The child is also armed with a blaster, probably a less-lethal local model - perhaps a stunner. 

At this point, Padis will take it. Largely because he does not want to be shot for not retrieving his assignment.

One of the troopers opens the aft hatch of the personnel carrier and lets the girl in as Padis decides that he simply won't refer to the age or assigned gender of Pilot Aldinschild in his report. The trip to the governor's private landing bay is clear, but he's still looking for problems. These Wild Space worlds under Yalis' control are supplying critical raw metals, gasses, and organic chemicals - and the rebels have taken notice. The Empire looks down on these barely-affiliated backwater systems, even though the materials they produce and trade are desperately needed to put ships into service and keep them there. You can't fight the rebs, pirates, and smugglers if you have to make sanitation stops every light year. 

In truth, he's not comfortable with Yalis using the Amirahni to fill in his gaps, even if he does understand the need. The few he's met in the Governor's presence are polite, deferential, competent - and some even have fathers who served the Empire, but there are too many unknowns. With the exception of Yalis, the men who end up assigned to places this far from Coruscant are bottom-of-the-drum scrapings; either incompetent, lazy, corrupt, misfits or an unappetizing blend of all of the above. Trained girls are a better option, though he's puzzled as to why there are no Amirahni sons. 

"Did you eat, kid?" The trooper riding shotgun asks, never taking his eyes from the airlane.

"I did, Trooper." Aldinschild's voice has a lilting accent.

"No bottle before throttle?" Asks the driver. 

"No, Trooper." The tone speaks of things unsaid, though scrupulously polite.

"Here's the mission. We're taking this guy-" Shotgun's thumb hooks in his direction. "To somewhere to extract another guy from a lot of piss-poor decision-making. You bring us there, bring us back. One of us stays with you, one goes with him. At no point do you exit the ship and, if anyone asks, you signal that you're on one of your milk runs. Got it?"

"I have it, Trooper." 

"You didn't need to tell her anything," Padis grits out. "This is donk work; she doesn't even need to leave the conn." 

"Then hire a donk to do it," the child lilts at him. 

Padis turns to look at her. "I beg your pardon?" A child said that to him, and it's quite plain that she's picked up some Imperial slang. Donks are just barely qualified as surface-to-orbit transport drivers - usually those who have dismally failed their navigation boards.

Her gaze meets his squarely. "Was my Basic inexact? Obtain the services of a donk. Trooper, I'd like to return to the residence hall. This gentlebeing seems to think that I'm his contracted donk instead of a favor extended by Governor Yalis."

"Good going. Three minutes after meeting her and you've already pissed her off," Driver snarks. "That's got to be an ISB record."

"I didn't mean to insult the child." Padis bristles. He's not a diplomat but he'd rather have someone post-pubescent by at least five years in that cockpit. "I'm sorry, Pilot."

She's not angry, her voice is pitched as they are having a conversation. The words, however, are rude. "In order to be insulted, I would need to have some investment in your opinion." 

As far as he knows, death troopers do not snicker. 

"Point taken." Shotgun spoke. "He said he was sorry, so play nice. And you - she's a contractor. You can't boss her around; she reports to the governor and nobody else. She's doing this for Governor Yalis, not you or the ISB."

Technically, Padis outranks the troopers. However, death troopers have a way of closing an argument that tends to be very final. 

The kid lofts an eyebrow. "I will 'play nice.'"

The rest of the ride plays out in a silence that has its own gravity field until they arrive at the governor's private landing bay. After they're admitted through the blast doors still in their vehicle, Aldinschild is the first out of the carrier and into the dimly-lit garage. 

" _Siju_ will be ready shortly. I need to make sure that the water tanks are topped up." 

Padis waits until she's out the door to ask, "I thought that her name was Siju?"

"Her people take use-names. Birth names are - I think - for family and mates only." The driver slings a bag of gear on his back. "Don't learn that the hard way. Her folk are touchy about it."

"You mean slappy." Says Shotgun, shouldering his own gear. 

"And sometimes stabby if the _goonf_ doesn't get the message and haul off."

Padis knows that just because a child is a child, it doesn't mean that they don't or won't engage in criminal activities. He tells himself that the troopers might just be winding him up with tales of savage space women more suited to quarter-credit holozines. 

Siju-the-Ship is at first glance, a heavy shuttle or light freighter, not brand new, but clean. The ramp lowers and the ship's running lights come on. The exterior is reminiscent of the Mon Cal ships or Nubians - smooth and keeps you guessing about weapons array, shields, and sensors. 

"How fast is this thing and what kind of weaponry does it have?" Padis looks it over. Appearances can be deceiving, but he'd be a lot more comfortable in a Lambda-class shuttle. 

"Planning to shoot your way out?" Driver's voice has no tones that he can discern, the helmet's speakers scrub all indicators from the voice.

"Not necessarily. I just like to have some coverage." Could the kid even set up a targeting solution if she had to?

"I thought you were some hot-jets intel operative."

"I'm assistant head of the Outer Regions intel desk. An analyst." There. It's out. "But I've had training, just like everyone else.

"You're a fripping desk jockey?!" Shotgun puts his helmeted face in his hands.

"Whose pancakes did you piss on to get this assignment?" Driver shakes his head. "I didn't sign up to be someone's training stabilizers."

Padis bristles. "All ISB officers and operatives receive the same training."

"So you've got theory and sims, but no actual time on the line," Driver says. "This is your first time in the real deal."

"That's one way of looking at it, but yes." 

The troopers switch to scrambled speech - without an earbud and decoding algo, he can't decipher what they're saying. 

"Right. Smoke here," Shotgun hooks a thumb at Driver, "is going to go with you, he has more experience with ISB shit-stirring. I'll stay with the kid. You blow it, we leave you there for the locals."

Padis grinds his teeth and grits out, "Fine."

He doesn't have a choice and his superiors were reluctant to let him undertake this trip, but his contact is… was a friend. A friend who got in deep first with spice, then with smuggling, and then with rebs. A friend who is paranoid enough of his standing with the rebs to do some significant espionage of his own and blow his station. A friend who has knowledge about some Imperial projects that he should not have, including a Plan B that was supposed to be ninety levels above need-to-know and somehow Kev knows. Worse, he knows others who know.

The kid appears, a cargo hatch opening and- "Why is she loading a cargo?"

"Good question." Shotgun replies. "Swag said to make it look like one of her little milk runs."

The speakers in the garage and landing bay hum to life.

"Tower to bay 404." A man pages, his voice crisp and professional as any Imperial officer. "404, this is Government District Central Tower."

The girl calls back, "404 ack Central Tower."

"Bay 404, we have no flight plan filed for you."

"404 ack, Tower. Let me load this cargo and I'll retransmit." 

"Ack, bay 404. I didn't know Girltown was having another outage."

"Ack Tower, I thought comms fixed it last shift."

"Ack, bay 404. You should know by now that they never tell us anything. Tower out." 

Siju backed a repulsorlift skid out of the hatch and came toward them, opening the garage door and activating the cargo arms on the overhead crane. "In the crate, please. If you want to look like a cargo run, then you get to be cargo."

"She has a point." Driver's already stuffing in the troopers' duffles. "Everyone squeeze in." Padis had objections he left unvoiced. Lots of them. Mostly about being able to breathe in there with two other people. "It's for ten minutes tops and it's not an airtight crate. Come on, Senior Lieutenant Hot-Jets."

"I don't have registration for departing passengers. I need to load cargo and transmit that flight plan." Eyes rolling, Siju taps her comm and opens a channel to the governor's office. "I'm here, about to board and the tower is asking for the flight plan."

"When you're ready to depart-

"I'm not going to be ready to depart until I transmit the plan to the tower. I can't get an outbound vector without it." 

"Hold."

The skid is loaded with a dozen crates, and they lower and secure the lid. 

"Pilot Siju, the flight plan is on your datapad. Safe journey."

"Thank. Fortune favor."

Alone in the dark with two death troopers sounds like the start of a bad joke or gory tale, and the time that it takes to traverse the bay to the cargo hatch seems inordinate. In about a decade, their crate loads and then is moved. Padis hears the sounds of cargo being secured and the hatch sealing shut. 

"Tower to 404." This time with the tinny sound of a comlink.

"Siju ack Tower."

"Tower ack Siju. Received flight plan, you're cleared. Sending outbound to your datapad."

"Ack Tower. Outbound received. Fortune favor."

"Ack Siju. Profit and plenty. Tower out."

Padis moves to open the crate and is restrained. He can't tell if it's Driver or Shotgun who whispers in his ear. "Wait until we're up and out."

Not about to argue at close quarters, Padis sits tight as the ship prepares to launch. The repulsors come on as the landing gear retracts, and the insystem drive spins up. 

" _Siju_ to Tower." The girl's voice comes over the ship's intercom.

"Tower ack _Siju_."

"Tower, my outbound coordinates are -29.352091 at 94.913458, confirm."

"Tower ack _Siju_. Confirm confirm."

" _Siju_ ack Tower. Proceeding. Over." 

At least she'd secured the crate. Dust goes up his nose as the gravitics kick on and _Siju_ turns on her axis. Then with one hell of a scream from her engines, they roar into the atmosphere of Garond-Elba. 

"System Traffic Control to Amirahni vessel _Siju_." Traffic control has a woman's voice. 

" _Siju_ ack Traffic."

"Proceed to outbound vector 1.874113 stop, 4.3589533 stop, -0.0329516 stop."

" _Siju_ ack Traffic, proceeding to 1.874113 ack, 4.3589533 ack, -0.0329516 ack, preparing for hyperspace."

"Traffic ack _Siju_. Confirm, confirm, confirm. Good journey, little sister. Fortune favor. Out."

The hyperdrive engines hum in baritone, the lower basso profundo thrum of the inertial dampers vibrating through the ship as they lift the lid from the crate. Padis had always dreaded hyperspace. Some couldn't take it, or never became used to it enough to make it part of their career. Others never passed their nav boards, shunted to planetary system work or moving cargo from surface to orbit and back - donks forever. Yet here is a child not yet academy age who apparently finds it as easy as rolling out of bed. 

The jump into hyperspace is unmistakable. Padis lets out a relieved breath when they are not turned into particles and noise. He's aware of the troopers looking at him and struggles irritably with his embarrassment. Space travel is only bearable if you don't really think about the improbabilities involved. He picks up his duffel and walks to the lift, hits the button and waits.

And waits some more. 

Finally he looks around with further irritation to find the troopers casing the cargo hold. "Is the lift broken?"

"No, it's inoperative. She only activates it when the governor and staff are aboard. We'll use the tubes to move between decks." Pointing to a blue-lit hatch, he says. "Blue for up, red for down. They're null-grav - just push up." 

"Why only when the governor's aboard?" Padis watches one of the troopers enter the tube and kick off. Looks easy enough. "It seems a little rude."

The trooper says succinctly, "Power needs fuel which costs money." 

"She's a contractor - she's getting paid." He kicks off a little too hard, flying past the passenger deck and nearly braining himself on the top of the tube before fumbling back down to the exit.

"Yeah, but why spin up all her systems for three people? I see her side of it." 

The ship is not as luxurious as private vessels in and around Coruscant, but has a spare and understated look. The main passenger deck has a common area and a strange accommodation that combines a sleeping area with storage, and a tiny meter-square refresher. A screen pulls down for privacy, and there is something odd-

"It's your accommodation and your lifepod if the ruminant end-product hits the fan." 

Padis has lost track of which trooper is which again. Both of them have staked their respective pods and are taking out an extreme number and variety of weapons. 

"This deck is a secured deck, no comms in or out except through the governor's private suite or comms on the bridge." One trooper removes his helmet to reveal a face that should be the zenith of male beauty - if you disregard the crazy cold eyes. "You break the seal on the governor's suite and I break you. Understood?" 

Technically, Padis outranks the trooper by a hell of a lot. Realistically, death troopers outrank him when it comes to the safety of their primary. Normally that would be the governor, but the little pilot seems to be taking that place for now.

"Of course." He makes it come out fairly nonchalant. "I have no trouble routing my communications via a secure channel from the bridge."

The second trooper is likewise unpacking and removes his hel- 

Oh. 

That would be 'her' helmet. 

Nobody told him that.

This is not Imperial Center by a long shot, and expectations must be managed. Women doing men's jobs and children taking the place of trained adults are part and parcel of life out here. Yalis, being born and raised on the very edges of the Expansionary Region, did not do what might be undertaken in the Core Worlds because he did not have the resources of the Core Worlds. He takes a deep breath and unpacks what he feels is necessary.

"First leg of hyperspace jump is to Deep Black station owing to instability in Waru's primary star as it prepares for nova," Siju announces. "From there, a jump to the traffic pen for Palados. I've been advised that wait time is eight hours owing to an explosion and fire at one of the tibana platforms which is now drifting and uncontrolled."

The female trooper consults her partner by eye, then calls out. "Pilot, is there a cause given for the explosion?" 

The rebs are starting to take an interest in where the Imperial Navy fills their shopping basket. 

"Negative." If the child is surprised by a female trooper answering her, she gives no indication. Then again, they seem to interact on a regular basis and it is more appropriate to have a chaperone. "The chyron says that containment and mitigation ops are underway."

~

He's one of those Inners. Siju leans back in the chair and sets the vast majority of her mind to minding her ship in hyperspace, but another part is bothering her like a loose tooth bothered her as a child. She just couldn't get her mind around them. One of the last persons that she carried with the governor had complained that 'the girl' didn't cook because she was busy flying the ship. Governor Yalis always has the grace to be embarrassed about the clueless Inners he's occasionally afflicted with, but he's not here to be a buffer between Siju and the clueless and/or stupid on this run.

"Well, you can't fix stupid. _Apah_ 's right about that."

_Amah_ also said that all captains talk to themselves, it's when you start answering yourself and agreeing with everything you've said that you have to worry. 

It wouldn't be a bad thing to check the last commnet astrography dump. There are a few interesting things happening in the neighborhood that bear watching for the effects they will have on hyperspace travel. She weighs going out to the galley to make herself a jijih tea or going up and back to the crew area above the bridge. 

"Hey, kid." The cockpit door comm registers a visitor and she keys it. The troopers generally stay out of her way, but this time one comes in with his helmet off and a tray in hand. 

"Thank you, Trooper Smoke." Like the Amirhani, the troopers in black have use-names. Trooper Smoke is as white as smoke, pale yellow-white hair, light grey eyes, and skin that hates every sun that shines. However, from time to time Siju had the feeling that was not the reason for his use-name. "I was thinking of coming out to get something. Are the rations to your liking?"

"Yeah, thanks. Not everyone loves the spicy stuff like you girls do. Nice selection of Core junk food, too. I haven't had a Ruby Bliel since I was younger than you." He sticks the tray on the arm of her chair and hands her a steaming cup of jijih. "Lieutenant Hot-Jets is figuring out how to heat a mealpack and Swag will be here after she secures her sleeping pod. We need a briefing from you about this locale and to brief you on procedures." 

"I'm guessing this was something engine-taped together at the last minute, otherwise I wouldn't be flying." She bites into her pasty and follows with a long sip of sweetmilk. 

"And you'd be right, but there was nobody else available with the right experience and the certification for that system. Makes me wonder why you are certified." He takes the empty comms chair. "And why you don't have a crew."

"The crew part is simple enough. I'm too young for anyone to crew for. Nobody wants an inexperienced captain, much less one in her first year, but Siju is easily rigged in this usage to run for one." He gave her a spicy warclaw pasty - one of her favorites. "The Palados system is essentially multiple nav hazards rotating a red giant."

The display pops up between them when she taps her console. One red giant, eight gas giants, three asteroid belts, and assorted rings and almost a hundred qualified moons, some of them not gas giants, but gasballs themselves. 

Trooper Smoke whistles. "See what you mean. Any natives?"

Siju shakes her head. "Billions of years dead if there ever were. The system has been worked for its resources for thousands of years. This planet - G3 - has a solid core and an ocean of liquid habine gas around it. Once in a while it does this." Pressing a button, the display zooms, and then a stream of something shoots out of the planet and into empty space. "Anything in the way of that is going to get vaporized." 

A tap at the door and Trooper Swag comes in with two trays and an air of suppressed mirth, her copper-colored braids wrapped around her head like a second helmet. "Neither of you will ever guess."

Trooper Smoke takes the tray with a nod of thanks. "I can guess. Wants this one," He nods at herself, "To cook and clean like a good Eriaduan mid-caste wife?"

Siju feels her eyes rolling before she could stop them, which made both troopers grin.

"Nope." Trooper Swag replies. "If he had known he'd be roughing it, he'd at least have brought his valet."

This made for much mirth, but- "What is a vallay?"

Trooper Swag blinks. "Ah. Right. Your people wouldn't have much use for them. Basically it's a servant who does things like dress and groom their master, runs errands for them and stuff like that."

Siju considered that. "So they sent a man on a mission who can't even groom and dress himself?"

"We're not sure he's that stupid. If he's pulling a cover, it's one of the best." Smoke put in, then bites into his own pasty. "Okay. Siju, give us the Palados system from the top."

"Okay, starting with the Deep Black traffic control station." The display zooms far out as she moves a finger on the screen of her studyware. "This is not an actual docking station, but traffic control only. You drop out of hyperspace and park until you're given an outbound vector and reentry coordinates to the Palados traffic pen. This is a high-hazard system, and we re-enter normal space and approach perpendicularly. You can see these stations in the vacant orbit. They are places where the raw materials extracted from the system are processed, and this one-" Another zoom. "Is Helngon Station. It's the largest, and the place that grants authorization to the inner system. Unless I am loading or dropping a cargo at one of the processing platforms, I have to reason to be at any of them."

"Are they restricted?" Smoke asks. 

"They are, and heavily armed. There was a pirate gang operating out here back when I was still in creche. My mother and aunts had a hand in hunting them out." 

~ 

Of course the whole thing has to start over when Hot-Jets comes in. You know, this must be his cover because nobody could actually be this stupid. She's no Jedi, but Swag has the feeling that little Siju not only dislikes Lieutenant Lethon, but doesn't trust him as far as she could straight-arm an ISD. The girl briefs them on hazards, and then on the laws that control where and when she can fly there. It makes sense to have all of the multiple stations in the one clear orbit, and with heavy materials traffic buzzing around the system, the tight traffic control makes sense.

"So the target needs to be either on Helngon station - above the solar plain - or Byssos station below." Swag looks over the hazards and traffic patterns for the Palados system - and there is a lot of both. "Otherwise you'll have to wait to be scheduled for the clear orbit?"

"And I'd need to have a direct cargo pull and follow a strict flight plan. The target can't be at Byssos, that's for observation only." Siju is learning the merits of Mad Moon candy bars and looks almost blissful. "It observes the primary and G-8, G-4, and G-1."

"Why those three?" Lethon asks, gnawing on a meat pie.

Siju's answer sends chills down her spine. 

"Ignition. Those three have enough mass to be failed stars. Failed in the sense that nothing caused them to ignite." Siju turned the display keying in the data to make the planets flare into stars. "The planets that used to be where the belts are now were pulled apart. The clear orbital band used to have a planet, but nobody knows where it went. But one ignition and chain reaction in those three and everything goes up - hundreds of thousands dead."

"Shit." Smoke breathes. "Turn the rebs loose in there-"

Swag nods, grim. The Separatists wouldn't have even blinked. "Don't know how much you know about the rebs, Siju."

"You Inners have many civil wars. You just finish that last one, start this one. Your governments are unstable and unreliable."

"It's not like that at all, Siju." Lethon protests as Swag wonders what the child thinks of people from the Core and Inner Rim. "The rebels are former Separatists. You have no idea what the Clone Wars did to the galaxy… most of it."

"Siju, you don't have a lot of wars out here, but it was bad - like history class highlights bad." Swag remembers her and her cousins packed into a shuttle as the air turned green with poison, watching her parents die choking on trypodolthane gas as they lifted off.

"And clones did this?"

"No, Poppet. It's… a long story and hard to explain." Smoke looks haunted, too. He had a little sister once, Swag knows. He's never talked about what happened to her. "The Empire, we want to keep people safe. To protect them."

Swag can see the skepticism in Siju's expression. "How long until Deep Black station?"

"Four hours at present course and speed." 

"Okay, little captain. History lesson time." Swag takes a deep breath. "Once upon a time, there were a bunch of assholes and the biggest asshole in the galaxy was their leader - Count Dooku."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Journeying to Helngon.

It does not go exactly as planned. 

"Your government created an army of fast-ageing clones to fight instead of their own people joining the military?"

Okay, that sounds bad. Smoke admits that.

"The clone troopers were heroes to us, Siju. Where I grew up, they were our liberators. I wanted to be one of them from the time I was a kid."

Swag nods, "They saved our lives when millions could die in a single day. A lot of us - by us I mean kids from the orphanage - joined the military when we could." 

"Do the Amirahni have wars, Siju?" Smoke asks. The ones in Girltown seem very close to one another, never an argument or fight that anyone can see. "You seem pretty… peaceful?"

Siju smiles and lilts, "All people have wars. We just end ours very quickly."

Hot-Jets asks something surprisingly intelligent, "Against outsiders or among the Amirahni?"

"In our history, we have had both."

"Fights amongst sisters are often the sharpest," Swag notes and Siju nods agreement.

"But in all disagreements, one thing takes precedence - the ship must survive." Siju's face is as solemn as any new recruit's taking the oath. "The ship is family, the ships of your sept are family, the ships the other septs are family. We are the sundered women, sisters, and we must endure."

"Sundered women?" Swag asks, "Sundered how?

Siju has some history of her own to impart. "In a war thousands of years ago, there were the planet-dwellers called Kell and the space-going-women-of-no-men called Pelagia. The Sevrafka created a weapon that caused the immune systems of both to attack the male determinant - the Kell were a patriarchal society and cast out or killed women when they could not bear them sons. Some were killed when the medical caste tried to reverse the weapon that encoded this into their DNA."

Leading with his foot into his mouth, Padis opines that's a terrible thing not to be able to bear sons. 

Siju quirks that brow upwards. "It was a terrible thing that the Kell priesthood thought it was something to murder their womenfolk over. It was a terrible thing that the Pelagia gave them the sanctuary of their decks and they never saw their homeworlds or kin again. As a descendent of those women, I can't say I mourn it."

Some guys. That's all Smoke is saying. Some guys.

"So the Amirahni were not the Amirahni at that point?" Swag asks.

"No, we were not until the Seven Mothers made us one people."

"And you have no homeworld?"

"No. In ships always unless we take our time of journey among the Dwellers." 

"That's what you're doing now, right? Swag asks. "Your journey time, like an apprenticeship away from home?"

Siju agrees. "We cannot build ships fast enough for all the daughters now, so for the past ten years many of us go among the Dwellers for our journey."

"How long does the journey last?" Smoke asks. 

"It depends on the track. I expect to become a  _ kayadin _ in ten years or so."

"A  _ kayadin _ is…?"

"Well, I operate a ship so in a sense, I am a captain.  _ Kayadin _ is… more. Leads. Commands the crew. Can go into battle, defend her crew and passengers, or neutralize a threat. If called to war, she comes with her vessel or fleet and is under the command of the  _ vaylan _ ."

From there Smoke explains ranks as they know them, and tries to slot in Siju's rank, the rank of  _ kayadin _ , and the rank of _v_ _ aylan _ . Siju, it is decided, holds the rank of captain of her vessel, and the  _ kayadin _ is more of a commander while a  _ vaylan _ is possibly equivalent to a grand admiral.

"And then there is the _v_ __a_ ydir _ -" All three of the Imperials visibly jolt at that. There's a saying in the Imperial Navy that to name him is to summon him. You do not ever want to summon him. "Is this not a good word in Basic?"

Swag, who has actually met the man, says, "What does it mean in your language, Siju?"

"It means one who directs warfare. 'War leader' would be closest. The rank is only for wartime, and ends when the war does." 

With any luck, any at all, Darth Vader will remain far, far from this edge of the galaxy. 

The little meeting breaks up after that and she and Smoke head down to the cargo hold for some hand-to-hand. Hot-Jets opts to bundle into his pod, the reading light on and the privacy screen down.

While casually trying to kill each other, Swag can tell that they're both thinking about anything else. She calls a break, pulls out a scanner and looks for surveillance devices, then lays it out. 

"This stinks. Something's not right."

Smoke shrugs. "The Governor's our Prime. He tells us to mind the baby, we mind the baby." 

Siju's codename with the governor's guard is Baby, and her ship is codenamed Nursery. Something that might tick the kid off, but she's thirteen in a place where everyone on the Imperial side is at least twice her age. 

"Still, the kid was right. This is something engine-taped together at the last minute by someone who didn't even know that she has to file a flight plan before getting an outbound." Swag has not found Siju's onboard surveillance, but that does not mean that it's not there. "Whoever laid this one on, it wasn't from the top. It's too loose." 

Smoke agrees. While death troopers are a part of the ISB, they have independence from ISB officers - they obey orders from their Prime. Most of them are non-commissioned officers, and not one ever comes in with a rank below sergeant. If Hot-Jets thinks he can order her and Smoke around, there's a big surprise awaiting him.

"I'll take first shift with Baby on the bridge. You get some sleep and I'll see you in seven." 

~

Smoke is still not used to this ship's refreshers. They're called sanitary units and are an all-in-one space saver. Getting the stink off involves shoving your uni into the cleaner, then standing with your arms over your head as a ring drops from the ceiling, spaying your body with a foamy cleaning solution. It smells nice, a little like the woods of his home planet. Then the ring reverses direction to rinse you off. Give the junk and pits a little extra friction, depilate the face if the beard inhibitor's wearing off, and you're good for a blow-dry. 

He puts his spare armor on as Swag cleans both hers and his, then he nods and goes to the bridge. Someone has to be awake in case shit happens and Baby needs protection. Their orders are to protect the girl and make sure that the extraction goes off without a hitch. Swag's right - the whole thing is loosey-goosey and half-assed. Siju is studying, one eye on the conn and the other on her 'studyware' a clear pad with a holoprojector. She nods to him when he comes in and in a first, locks the doors behind him.

"That's new."

She shrugs wordlessly, cutting her eyes to one side. Doesn't trust Padis, evidently. He and Swag don't either, otherwise he'd be sleeping like a lamkin in that very comfortable pod. 

"I want to run some procedures by you. I know we covered the ones in case everything goes right. I want to brief you on what to do if everything goes right to hell in a swoop's sidecar."

Siju puts down her studyware and looked him over. "You think that it will."

"And so do you, or you wouldn't have locked that door." Her nod is a concession. Smoke takes off his helmet. "First one. If I go with this  _ goonf _ , and you do not hear from me in one hour, you and Swag get your first outbound and haul ass for Garond-Elba."

And he gets a whole lot of no in return. "You and Swag are my passengers, with the shelter of my decks. I will not abandon you."

"Just me and Swag." She did not include Hot-Jets. 

"I do not extend the shelter of my decks to those who engage in subterfuge."

"He's a spy. They lie all the time. I'm sure the Amirahni have intel ops." He's not sure. The girl and her people are known unknowns. "It's above your pay grade, but everyone has spies."

"It is not for one of my rank to pry, but I am sure that you must be correct."

And the Amirahni do not answer questions. However, when they do not answer, they do it very politely.

"You mentioned a cargo as part of the cover. What's the cargo?" Maybe he can work with that.

Siju reaches into one of the pouches on her belt and pulls out a card that's five centis by… and that is something she should absolutely not know about, much less have. "That is a skifter chip."

"That is correct. I have a cargo of 20,000," Siju looks pleased with herself. "So useful they are."

"Those are illegal where I'm from." 

Siju leans forward and pats his arm, "Then it is a good thing that we are not where you are from."

"Not the point."

"No, it is not. These devices are useful, though. I can hook one up to my transponder and it will tell someone's sensor array that I am a battleship if I program it so."

Smoke put his face in his hands. Terrific. Just swell. Baby is a budding slicer. 

"So I have a buyer, and this will net me 10,000  _ krita _ ." She took a small, vividly pink stone from another pouch. "Valuable back in Garond-Elba." 

"But illegal." Trying again.

"Here not illegal, unless used to cheat the gambling houses. The device is legal, the most common use illegal. I was very careful to make sure that I was not breaking any laws - it's in my contract." 

Smoke sighs, "Second protocol. I go with the Lieutenant. You and Swag stay here. You do not leave the ship and at the first sign of trouble, even if we're not back but still in range of comms, you go outbound and back home." That nets him a stony silence. "There should be a 'Yessir!' in there somewhere."

"I do not abandon my passengers." 

Thus engages a long and circular argument which keeps coming back to her assertion that… Krim help him… he and Swag are her responsibility. A thirteen-year-old girl. "It is not the junior officer's responsibility to cover the deficits of their superiors."

"The Amirahni are a people of laws, of mercy, of justice. I cannot leave you in a place that would endanger your survival." 

"All right. Do the Amirahni have soldiers? Fighter pilots?"

"We have." 

"Then you understand that when someone is a soldier or a fighter pilot, that we accept that there may be a mission we do not come back from."

Stonier silence. Like a small boulder.

"The governor ordered us specifically to protect you."  She looks crushed. Oh, hell.  "You have to listen to what Swag and I say. He trusts you, knows you're a damn good pilot, but Swag and I have to be able to have that same trust." It goes down, but not easily. Kids of thirteen are often convinced that they are blaster-proof, despite training. "He didn't want you or any of the young ladies on this one, but he was not given the opportunity to refuse."

"And you can't use your own ships and pilots because then these people you're at war with might spot you."

"And you know the hazards, how to blend in. Your folk are all over this part of space - everyone is used to seeing you." He pauses, considering that. "Have you been approached by anyone speaking against the Empire, trying to recruit you?"

"No. We only recently came this far in. I don't think your rebels know anything about us at all."

"That's a tall assumption. Third protocol. Are you armed?"

Siju looked insulted. "Of course I am."

"Let's see 'em."

Siju presented a shiny new blaster of unfamiliar make, overpowered but similar to typical self-defense model from Imperial space. What startles him was the knives. Two from each boot. Two from each sleeve. A sizable one from under her tunic. Thin slide blades that slipped out from the boot soles with a kick on a hidden switch. A gleaming wire garrote folded under the hood. And two little flick knives the size of his thumb from her hair doodads. 

"Siju." He remembers his father's I-am-disappointed-face." "What are you doing with all these blades?"

"This is how we fight." Siju stows her hair-doodad knives back into their places. "My sister made these for me."

"Give me that big one. How you got these past security... " It's sized for her hand, and once he pulls it from the sheath, he understands. It's crystal of some sort, no metal anywhere. "What is it made out of?"

"Carbon crystal from the Ku'uri system, also called adamantine crystal. Every girl gets her own blades when she starts her journey."

"Have you trained with them?"

"Since about seven or eight."

"Hand-to-hand?"

"Armed and unarmed, we start at three or four years."

"Blaster?"

"Starts at ten."

Smoke considers. The Amirahni are very good at protective coloration, you expect what you see and never look for the very unexpected thorns. "We're going to have an assessment when we get to that traffic pen. Ever actually kill anyone?"

"No, Trooper Smoke. Not yet." She began to put the larger knives away - back up sleeves, into boots.

Not yet. That's very telling.

In her training, in the way she was raised, Smoke knew that Siju fully expected that she would have to kill someday and be capable of doing it. 

~

Padis has tried. His small scanners can't penetrate the walls of this ship and he's betting that neither can his communications. He can't even scan into Swag's pod, much less the sealed space of Governor Yalis' private office and quarters. He has no idea of armaments, communications, or even where shit goes when it leaves the sanitary unit. When he gets back to Imperial Center, he's going to find a toehold and get the ISB interested in these women and their doings. 

He could try charming Siju. She's young and he can be charming when he tries. She might let some things slip.

Swag is snoring softly in her pod, screen down like his. When asked where Smoke was, she replied with an eyeroll, "Babysitting on the bridge."

He might be able to leverage that resentment. 

For now, his only mission is to extract Kev, squeeze him for what he knows and stash him somewhere safe with enough spice to keep him quiet. The governor is provincial enough that he didn't kick too hard when Major Scofis laid this one on, even though they didn't clear it through their colonel. It's easier to ask forgiveness than to get permission, but he's certain that Scofis has probably made it square. 

Kev had better have the information that he says he has. For all it's supposed to be above need-to-know, politics and ambition can muddy the most pristine intelligence. 

He should know. He's muddied enough of it himself. 

Still, he's not a Tagge or a member - even distantly - of the other important families. A kid from the Mid-Rim has to make his bones however he can.

He dozes off, thinking of finally getting to rank up - surely this is the one that will vault him off the desk and into the realms of the power players. The drop out of hyperspace wakes him. Deep Black station. 

Swag is awake, too. Already heading for the bridge - a tiny bridge, but a bridge. The language is not Basic this time, but Jondori - an obscure trade language even on the edge of wild space.

"Ahmirani vessel _Siju_ to Deep Black traffic."

"Black ack  _ Siju _ ." A voice replied that sounded like a human male with a distinct Out Rim drawl. "You're a little early and we're jammed up. Move to 0.095 stop 0.130 stop minus 0.003 stop and make yourself comfy."

" _ Siju  _ 0.095 ack 0.130 ack minus 0.003 ack. Confirm?"

"Confirm confirm confirm,  _ Siju _ ."

"Any word on that platform, Traffic?"

"Evac, then tow and blow. Five missing, presumed dead." 

"I would sing their names if I knew them."

"It was either stupidity or sabotage. Keep yourself sharp, little lady. Expect five to eight hours in the middle of next to nowhere. Traffic over."

" _ Siju _ out." The girl is quiet for a moment, but then does something to power down her console. "Five to eight hours. Do any of you have transmissions to make back to Garond-Elba?"

Swag speaks before he can. "How far is your boost? 

Siju brings up the display. Her comm array will reach as far as Garond-Elba and possibly as far as Lamaredd or Excarga, but that's at the very limit of range. Swag moves to the vacant comm station. 

"Can you give me ops? Not for the Amirahni communications, but for Imperial channels?" The station lit up, showing only Imperial frequencies, some of them only tenuously in range. "Thanks, kid."

Siju nods and turns back to her console, composing a message of her own as Smoke and Swag hail any Imperial vessel in range that can receive an ISB transmission. Padis can't help but be nervous. Colonel Draghyn lived up to her name - a real fire-breather from the Outer Rim, her rank backed by sterling ability and then by powerful allies after the Death Star's loss took out a full eighth of the officer corps. He should wait to see what the death troopers' messages turn up before sending any of his own.

"DT1032 and DT787. 6431 912 077445."

The reply was lagged and attenuated enough that it came through as a bare whisper. "Eleventh Fleet - ISD  _ Harrier _ . DT1032 and DT787. Report."

What followed was a string of letters and numbers, and Padis tried to memorize everything he could. He'd been told that he didn't have enough memory to be a field agent, and the augmentations would be a waste of time. Was that 4XM9229 or 4MX9299? Padis craned his neck, but with the two troopers in the way, he couldn't even see what frequency they were using. 

"DT1032 and DT787. ISD  _ Harrier  _ acknowledges. Admiral Faro will transmit to ISB. Standby this frequency, but get cozy - it's going to be a while."

"Story of my life,  _ Harrier _ . Will stand by. Out."

Siju yawned. "I need to get some rest if the next jump is going to be that far out." 

"Okay, kid. Where are you sleeping?" Swag asked. 

"Right here. I can rock the chair back into high-G position, cover up with a blanket and I'm good." 

"Smoke, you can tank. I'll keep an eye on the little captain." Swag offered. "Some sack time before go time is a good idea." 

"I'll take you up on that." 

Padis reluctantly leaves the bridge with Smoke, effectively wedged out when Siju turns her back and opens the comm back to Garond-Elba. He has nothing really to report yet and his superiors hate hearing that. Still, the pod is comfortable and if Smoke didn't snore like Swag, he might even get some rest.

~

The kid's report is short. Holding at Deep Black, will advise when slated into Helngon.

Siju is as good as her word. Rock the chair back, blanket, and she's out like a light. Swag is a little weirded out by the Amirahni, honestly. In her part of the galaxy Siju would still be in school, not piloting a ship around interstellar space. Hell, in the Mid-Rim of the Empire you couldn't even get a local system pilot's license until you were sixteen.

Swag leaves comms only to make a tank of khaf, making sure that Padis is actually snoring instead of listening. Smoke has his privacy shield up, sleeping with his SE-14r in hand. She makes no effort to be quiet, knowing that will only wake him immediately. Khaf tank filled, Swag heads back to the bridge where the kid is bundled in her blanket - not waking even when Swag settles in for her watch. It's long, and it's boring, except when she discovers that  _ Siju _ 's comms keep track of all traffic coming and going.

Interesting. A little paranoid, but interesting. 

True to form, it's six hours after sending their report to  _ Harrier _ that they get any answer back. The kid wakes up but goes to the san unit, permitting Swag some privacy. The reply is a lot to think about. Sabotage and piracy, additionally some agents sent into this part of space have straight up fallen off the map. No traces of nearly a dozen, hold for transmission, inquiry going up the chain at ISB. None of these operatives are kids and all of them dropped from sight in a chain of systems around Palados. 

The kid comes out of the san looking grumpy. 

"Khaf?"

"Yzplz."

A half a mug goes down before Siju can put words together. Maybe you're not supposed to give kids khaf, but Siju's piloting and Swag has never known a pilot who didn't need an intrathecal drip to get started. Add in that Siju is at that bed-loving age and she's not getting her brain functioning without a blast.

"Sorry that woke you up."

"It's all right, Trooper Swag. There's going to be another long wait at Palados. I can tack it on then."

The next two hours have a little space for her to fill Smoke in on what they may be walking into. It's now certain that someone did not lay this on from the top, or something would have come up about those missing agents. Governors out this far rarely speak with the top, so an officer further down the chain could conceivably get one over on someone out in Yahooland. The hail comes in for them to get moving again as they ostensibly do more in Smoke's pod than polish armor - moving in thirty. There's enough time to use the san and then get to the bridge.

Padis follows the scent of the kid's khaf to the bridge just as they're hailed.

"Deep Black outbound to Ahmirani vessel  _ Siju _ ."

" _ Siju _ ack Deep Black."

"Outbound vector in thirty for Helngon traffic pen Beta - switch nav to Gobask."

"Ack. Nav system to Gobask."

" _ Siju _ outbound taxi Uniform Left to 48 Center, hold position at Kilo until the Vuusk ore freighter clears, proceed to outbound 9 Right."

"Ack, Outbound. Uniform Left to 48 Center, holding position at Kilo after Vuusk, to outbound 9 right. Confirm?"

" _ Siju _ confirm."

"Outbound, maneuvering now. Siju out."

" _ Siju _ , Squish at Helngon station sends her love. Black out."

"Siju, who's Squish?" Swag asks.

"My next-eldest sister. She hugs everyone, so she's called Squish."

"How old is next-eldest?"

"Seventeen."

Smoke and Padis pack into the seats reserved for the engineers while Swag takes comms.  _ Siju _ moves lightly on her maneuvering jets and insystem drive. The traffic here is not as thick as Coruscant, but the engines and running lights make a ribbon of color for each outbound lane. Most of the ships here are behemoths, heavy tankers and haulers, some in the far lanes pushing three or four times the mass of Super-class destroyers. Siju handles her ship, informing traffic control that she is on station and spinning up her drive.

"Outbound control to Siju. Cleared for outbound on path 0.74 stop, 2.99 stop, -1.51 stop. Plot for traffic pen 23 at Helngon."

Siju acknowledges and repeats the instructions, moving into the outbound vector upon getting confirmation. The jump to lightspeed is smoother, somehow, probably because of the lack of gravity and solar interference. And Padis does not like lightspeed, or indeed, being in space - it shows on his face and the stiffness of his shoulders. 

Freighter life seems to be a lot like military life with all the hurry up and wait, but little Siju seems used to it. Once they're parked pending clearance into the system, she and Smoke can give her an assessment. The Amirahni might train their kids from toddlerhood, but they're not death troopers, and this isn't the best neighborhood. It's not going to hurt anyone for Siju to get a level-up from people who earned the name and rank.

**Author's Note:**

> The Amirahni are a predominantly female-run culture in wild space. It's not unusual for a thirteen year old to have a specialty and spend ten or more years journeying to master it. From the time that the girls are crechelings, they are being sifted, sorted, and trained to preserve they family unit - the ship. The fathers of many of these girls came from the Old Republic or the Empire to the edge of the outer rim, seeking even with career-ending injuries to stay in space.


End file.
